


i’ve fallen and i can’t get up

by jol_llly



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Misunderstandings, Supernatural References, combeferre knows the basics of lightbulb replacing, courf watches too much spn, they’re both idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:47:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25188931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jol_llly/pseuds/jol_llly
Summary: Neither of them acknowledged the elephant in the room. Even if the elephant decided to wedge itself right between them, they wouldn’t have looked at it. They came to the silent agreement that, maybe if they ignored it, there was a good 20% chance it would disappear, or at least turn into a mouse, and then scurry away.Or, a somewhat crack courferre fic, where Combeferre doesn’t know what to do with his emotions, Courfeyrac thinks salt will prevent a lightbulb from flickering, and the author needs to stop using shitty metaphors.
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17





	i’ve fallen and i can’t get up

**Author's Note:**

> *tw// there’s a couple very minor injuries. it’s a bruised tailbone, shattered glass that got stuck in a hand, and blood. nothing is described in extremely graphic detail, it’s just mentioned, which is why i didn’t tag it. but just thought i’d give a heads up.*
> 
> i know what you’re thinking. “seriously iva? another badly written story with an extremely strange plot just because you envisioned one of your favorite characters say a funny line and then you built up a whole story line just so they could say those words?”
> 
> ...yeah
> 
> in my defense, i thought it was a really good idea (but i also thought the same about cutting my bangs, and here we are)
> 
> anyway here’s the really short courferre fic that shouldn’t have taken me a month to finish. enjoy! (i apologize in advance for like, everything)

Combeferre had been so engrossed in the article he was reading on his phone that he almost missed the line of white powder in front of the door to his shared apartment. 

Almost. 

He knelt down on the brown carpet of the apartment building hallway, before the line, trying to figure out what it was. The classes had been let out early due to incoming snow, but Combeferre would eat his loafers if the line in front of him consisted of the unique, hexagonal ice crystals. He touched it, and yeah, not cold. Impulsively, he put his face close to the line and tried to smell it. It went up his nose and into the back of his throat. 

It was salt.

He hacked out the taste, grabbed his water bottle from his messenger bag, drank about half of it, and then furtively glanced around to make sure no one had seen him. He stood up casually and wiped his hands on his pants. He opened the door, took a deep breath and yelled, “COURFEYRAC!”

“WHAT?” The voice of his friend yelled back.

“WHY,” He paused to wipe his mouth, grimacing, “IS THERE SALT ON THE GROUND WHEN ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS LEARN HOW TO CHANGE A LIGHTBULB?”

A head of messy brown hair popped out from behind a bedroom door. Combeferre’ s heart fluttered at the haphazard strands. “Huh?” It asked, before looking down and seeing the line in front of Combeferre’s feet. “Ohhhhhh. It doesn’t contain any illegal substances, eighty five percent guaranteed.” 

“Yes,” Combeferre said wryly, “It’s salt. I noticed. Again, you need to stop taking Supernatural so seriously. This is, what, the 3rd time it’s happened this month? The building’s just old, Courf.”

“Fuck you!” His friend exclaimed, although not unkindly. “I was _scared,_ ‘Ferre. Besides, you’re one to talk. You squeak every time there’s a jump scare.” He paused, a smirk spreading across his face as Combeferre scoffed, and entered the apartment. “Yeah, you think you’re subtle. Anyway, you’re just jealous because I’d let Jensen Ackles have all this ass to himself if he wanted.”

“That’s a lie,” Combeferre lied, taking off his vans (the ones that Jehan and Gantaire had stolen from him to decorate, Jehan with Vonnegut quotes and Grantaire with a surprisingly good combination of moths and flames), and placing them on their shoe rack. He put his bags and books down on their kitchen counter, being careful not to get any crumbs on the bottom. 

Their apartment was a relatively decent size, big enough for two 20 year old men in university who lived with their parents for the majority of their lives. Combeferre and Courfeyrac each had their own bedrooms, and shared a bathroom. The living room had a large, orange colored couch (Courfeyrac had insisted that it had ‘personality’, Combeferre had agreed because he knew nothing about interior design), and was where their friends slept over when they hosted movie nights (And any other given time. It wasn’t uncommon for Combeferre to get home and see someone napping on the couch). Their friends were also the reason that the kitchen pantry was full of snacks, ranging from a variety of Lärabars (Joly’s) to bags of Act II (Cosette’s), to gushers (Bahorel’s), and many other things. 

“Why’re you home so early?” Courfeyrac asked, checking the clock on their stove top that read **4:12** in a glowing green light. 

Combeferre looked behind him to answer, saw Courfeyrac step out from behind the door, and _Oh my god,_ Combeferre thought. _He’s wearing my sweatshirt._

He tried not to flush, tried not to feel overwhelmed by the _softness_ of the action. It’s not like it had never happened. The two had been stealing clothes from each other since they were kids, but ever since he Realized That He Is In Love a month ago, things had been... a little more than difficult to handle. 

“-last class normally ends at around 6 o’clock… hello? Are you ok?” 

He hadn’t realized that Courfeyrac had still been talking. 

“Fine! I’m fine.” He laughed nervously, hoping that the other man hadn’t caught on to his sudden internal crisis. “Um, there’s gonna be a blizzard. Classes got cancelled.” 

Courfeyrac nodded his head sagely. “In September. Yes. I love global warming.”

Combeferre smiled, weakly retorting with, “Don’t let Enjolras hear you.” He turned to fully face Courfeyrac, leaning against the counter. “Do you, um, maybe want to let me know why you're,” He gestures towards the sweatshirt, “Wearing my clothes?”

“I just grabbed it from the pile of clean clothes that we were too lazy to sort out.” Courfeyrac struck a dramatic pose, looking ridiculous. “I still pull it off better, don’t I?”

Fuck. Combeferre was _gone_ for this boy. “N-no.” _Yes._ “No, and stop stealing my clothes.”

It came out far too sharp. Courfeyrac’s grin slowly melted off his face, and Combeferre desperately wished he wasn’t stupid. “Oh.” The expression turned into a frown, and Combeferre desperately wished he could kiss it away. “Sorry, I didn’t realize that you weren’t ok with it, I won’t do it again and- Sorry. I’ll just go change.” He turned, visibly puzzled and upset, and dashed back into his room.

Combeferre dropped his head in his hands. He hadn’t mean it in the _Don’t-you-dare-wear-my-clothes-you-bottom-feeder_ way _,_ he had meant it in the _I-can’t-handle-how-adorable-you-look-wearing-my-clothes-and-I’m-really-confused-why-do-I-feel-this-way?_ way. And now he seemed like an asshole. 

Assholes aside though, he needed to figure out what to do with his not so small crush. (He had called Grantaire for help a while ago, thinking if anyone understood unrequited love it would be their resident cynic. However when he referred to it as such, all he had got was snickering over the phone, and then the call ended. He never tried it again.) 

The original plan had been to just ignore his feelings, and dive head first into his studies. That had resulted in him getting sick from lack of sleep, and a worried Courfeyrac had implemented some rules that forced Combeferre to relax, inevitably forcing Combeferre to spend more time around him. So clearly it hadn’t worked. 

He couldn’t go to Enjolras, not that he didn’t trust him, but knowing the blonde he would get impatient and just straight up tell Courfeyrac. Which would be horrible, because Courfeyrac didn’t like him, not in the same way. At least once a week he went out at night, and came back in the mornings wearing the same clothes, disheveled hair, purple marks, and a pounding headache, unknowingly breaking Combeferre's heart every single time. Not that it was his fault, he was free to do whatever (or whoever) he wanted. It just sucked. A lot. 

Before he could brainstorm any further, the door creaked, signaling Courfeyrac’s return. Combeferre looked up, and was immediately blinded by a garish green. “And Courf strikes again,” The shorter man said, imitating the voice of a sports announcer, “With a far better fashion sense than his friend! And the audience goes wild!” He bowed to an invisible crowd.

Oh. They were going to act like it wasn’t a big deal then, like Courfeyrac’s grin wasn’t a little too forced, and the tension wasn’t suffocating, removing the oxygen surrounding them. Cool. Combeferre could totally do that. 

“A fashion sense? Please, with a sweater that color, I’m not sure you have one.” Sure, maybe his voice cracked a little. But if Courfeyrac was willing to ignore it, he could too. Even if he knew that it would only make things worse, and he knew something or someone would snap, and everything could end in ruins, and going along with this act would only speed up the inevitable end of a 17 year long friendship. 

But he did it anyway. He laughingly teased Courfeyrac again when he went through a dramatic telling of how he almost died due to flickering lights. He let his friend drag him to the bathroom, telling him on the way that since he hadn’t learned from the past 2 times, he doesn’t have to learn this time either, right? _C’mon Ferre, you’re like, freakishly tall, if I tried I wouldn’t be able to reach it, even if I went on the ladder._

Neither of them acknowledged the elephant in the room. Even if the elephant decided to wedge itself right between them, they wouldn’t have looked at it. They came to the silent agreement that, maybe if they ignored it, there was a good 20% chance it would disappear, or at least turn into a mouse and then scurry away.

They arrived at the bathroom. There were Courfeyrac’s various hair products scattered around the sink, an extra pair of glasses that they both used because neither of them could remember who it belonged to, and two tubes of toothpaste (mint for Ferre, bubblegum for Courf). There were also many toothbrushes scattered around, each a different color with initials written onto them. In the corner, between the sink and the shower, was a ladder. Mounted on the wall above the toilet was a painting of their friends that Grantaire had made and gifted to them while drunk. He and Courf (also drunk) had thought it would be funny to nail it to the wall right across the toilet, the reasoning being that whoever was using the bathroom would feel at home. 

He looked up towards the ceiling. The middle out of 3 LED bulbs was definitely flickering. He sighed, and walked towards the sink. He opened the cupboard under it to fish out another light from the box, retrieved the ladder and put it directly under the burnt out bulb. Throughout it, Courfeyrac didn’t say a word, obviously a little terrified. 

The first problem with their ladder was, it was short. Not extremely tiny, but for some reason, the ceilings in their apartment were really high, and the size of their ladder didn’t really give them an advantage. So, when Combeferre climbed up onto the last rung, he still had to stretch one hand up towards the light. The other hand gripped the top cap. Both feet were precariously balanced on the metal.

The second problem was that due to his position on the ladder, he could fall. Very easily. 

So when all the lights went out, Combeferre, arms flailing and lightbulb still in hand, tipped over backwards. 

Combeferre landed on his butt, a flare of pain indicating that it would probably hurt to sit for the next couple of days. His arms were the next thing to hit the ground. He registered a shattering noise, the sound of footsteps getting nearer, and a “Holy shit oh my god Combeferre are you ok?”

“Um.” He looked at his hand, which had streaks of blood running down and around the shards of glass stuck in his hand. “I think so?”

“You _think_ so? Combeferre! You literally just fell. Off a fucking ladder. And your hand-“ Courfeyrac stopped speaking, and Combeferre looked up to see panic written all over his face.

“What?” 

“It’s-“ Courfeyrac gulped. “It’s getting colder.”

And he was right. He could feel the temperature around him dropping, and his fear levels rising. “Fuck.”

“This- this is exactly what happens on the show.” Courfeyrac seemed to be close to wetting himself, which would be funny if Combeferre wasn’t in the exact same position. “Is this the part where we die?” Courfeyrac whimpered.

At that moment, there was a knock (effectively startling them both, _again_ ), accompanied by a voice yelling, “Hey, boys! Are you guys ok?”

Courfeyrac glanced at Combeferre with wide eyes. “Oh my god, did the ghost just ask us if we were ok?”

Combeferre might have laughed. However, he was still pretty shaken, and his butt hurt _really_ bad, so he settled for, “No, Courf. That’s our neighbor. Monsieur Mabeuf?”

“Ah.” Courfeyrac seemed to recognize the name. “Garden Guy?”

“Yeah.” Combeferre stood up, wincing and cradling his hand. He could feel the pain now, and he would need to get the glass pieces out of his hand soon. Doing his best to avoid the shards still on the ground, he made his way to the door. Courfeyrac seemed to get what he was doing after a couple of seconds, and trailed behind him.

They reached the front door and opened it. Before them stood their neighbor, a short old man with silver hair. He was a widow, and seemed to be pretty lonely before they moved next to him. He had gained a liking to them and their friends, ever since they had asked for his help to create a community garden. He’d also known Marius’s dad, and helped Marius find out what had happened to him.

The monsieur repeated his earlier words, but then glanced at Combeferre’s hands, and then Courfeyrac’s ugly green sweater. His eyes widened. “Seriously boys, are you alright?”

Combeferre smiled, trying his best not to laugh at Courfeyrac’s affronted expression. “No, we’re alright. I just fell and dropped a glass, which is why,” He gestured at his injury, “This happened. We can take care of it.”

“Ah. I’d heard some screams, but I guess I know where those came from.” There was a kind twinkle in the man’s eye. “Anyway, it’s gonna be a long, cold night, boys, so I came to see if you had enough blankets and other ways to keep warm.”

Courfeyrac frowned, obviously confused. “Did the power go out in your place too?”

“Did you not hear? There’s a blizzard happening right now, boy! The power’s out everywhere.” Monsieur Mabeuf exclaimed. “Are you sure you’re alright? Did you hit your head or anything?”

Combeferre felt stupid. Sure enough, the man in front of the, was holding a flashlight, and the hallway behind him was dark. He glanced at Courfeyrac, who seemed to be going through the same realization. 

After a beat too long, they both started talking.

“Oh, yeah of course-“ 

“The blizzard, we totally knew-“

Monsieur Mabeuf chuckled, and muttered something like, “Ah, to be young again.”

The boys, embarrassed, shut their mouths. The old man shook his head, a smile still on his face. “Anyway, will you two be alright? I’d offer to let you come into my place, but with all the bookshelves and plants-“

“No need to worry monsieur!” Courfeyrac interjected. “We’ll be just fine.” And with that, the neighbor left, after a promise to let them know if he needed anything. 

Combeferre closed the door with his good hand, and then burst out into laughter. Courfeyrac was doubled over, gasping for breath. They laugh and laugh, borderlining on hysteria. 

“Oh my god- we’re _so stupid_ -“

“It was literally the blizzard, just the blizzard-“

“And we thought it was a _ghost_ -“ That set off another round. 

With their eyes teared up and stomachs hurting, they finally calmed down. Courfeyrac had put his head in his hands, using the countertop to support his arms, and Combeferre was sitting on the floor again, back against the door.

“Ohhhh wow,” Courfeyrac said. “I seriously thought I was gonna die.” 

Combeferre took a second to catch his breath, then replied, “You were gonna pee yourself,”

Courfeyrac chuckled, then groaned and put a hand on his sore abs. “Says you, you literally fell off a ladder.” He jerked his head up immediately. “Fuck, you fell off a ladder!”

Combeferre brought his hand up to his face, and started to feel the sting again. “Shit.”

Courfeyrac sighed. “Luckily for us, Joly’s our friend. I’ll be right back, there’s bound to be disinfectant, tweezers, and bandages somewhere.” He walked off.

Left alone, Combeferre’s thoughts drifted back to earlier, to when he had practically yelled at Courfeyrac for wearing his sweatshirt. No matter how ‘fine’ things seemed now, he needed to apologize. He had _massively_ fucked up, and he could swear that the voice berating him inside his head sounded suspiciously like Enjolras. 

After what felt like far too long, Courfeyrac returned with all the supplies, and a couple blankets, but without a word or a glance at his face. There was no trace of the laughter from before. There was even when he sat in front of Combeferre to clean his wounds, holding his hand with the lightest grip, almost afraid to touch. Every time Combeferre winced, he seemed to shrink further and further into himself. Every action came with hesitation. It seemed that he, too, had been thinking of earlier. The elephant had returned, 10x bigger and backed up with a mariachi band. 

Combeferre was itching to say something. Anything, to fix the grow tension between them. He wouldn’t sacrifice 17 years of friendship for his unrequited love and inability to control himself around borrowed sweatshirts. But he didn’t. No, he _couldn’t_ . Every time he tried to say something, he thought about how it might come out wrong, make things worse. And he _couldn’t_ do that, _couldn’t_ lose Courfeyrac. 

Fuck.

And then Courfeyrac had finished putting on the bandages. And finally, _finally_ looked up at him, straight in the eye, and said, “You’re free to go.”

There was an implication behind the words. One Combeferre didn’t understand, even as he searched the endless blue of Courfeyrac’s eyes. “I- what?”

“You’re free. To go.” Each word was loaded, with so much meaning behind it and what did it mean and what was he really, _really_ saying, and-

Oh.

Courfeyrac had thought that Combeferre had rejected him. His words were an invitation, an option for Combeferre to leave. 

Courfeyrac, the sweet boy, the one who felt everyone’s pain and gave them happiness, who cried at the end of the Fox and the Hound, who’s smile was the equivalent of a thousand suns blazing in the sky, who fucking _mixed_ _hot chocolate packets into his coffee_ , had thought he overstepped. All because Combeferre was apparently, very emotionally constipated. 

He inhaled shakily. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The blue eyes, like an ocean that Combeferre would willingly drown in, looked lost. 

There weren’t words for what he wanted to say, so instead, he decided to show. Each move was done slowly, as if he was trying not to startle a scared animal. Everything with wordless permission to continue from the other. And so they ended up with Combeferre cupping Courfeyrac’s face, the brown skin of his non-injured hand on Courfeyrac’s jaw, his thumb tracing Courfeyrac’s freckles cheek bone, his forehead against Courfeyrac’s forehead, and everything was burning and he didn’t want it to stop. 

The oceans were inviting him, challenging him. 

_Fuck it_ , he thought. _I’m gonna dive._

Heart racing, but surer than he had ever felt in his life, Combeferre leaned forward. And kissed him. Kissed Courfeyrac. And after a terrifying moment of stillness, Courfeyrac responded. Combeferre was absolutely sure that he had never felt anything until now. He was on fire, burning, he was swimming, drowning, he was living.

They broke apart, after what felt like minutes and years, panting, eyes half lidded. The taste of happiness still lingered in Combeferre’s mouth. And he saw Courfeyrac, beautiful, like the sun. His brown hair disheveled, his lips red like cherries, and his eyes, his _eyes._

And the sun opened his mouth with a laugh that sounded like bells and said, “Ferre, I’m fucking freezing. Cuddle for warmth?”

**Author's Note:**

> wow, i apologize that there isn’t ANY flow to this fic. i worked on it on and off for far too long, and im so sorry if the tenses are weird. 
> 
> hooray for shitty kissing scenes and me not knowing how to finish this fic! it went from absolute crack to way too many metaphors. oh well. that’s life (it’s not).
> 
> anyway, thank you as always for reading, please give constructive criticism! also there’s bound to be a mistake that i made in the writing, so if you catch one please let me know in the comments
> 
> massive amounts of love are being sent your way. <3
> 
> also im on tumblr now, @/jol-llly. im not quite sure how to use it but im kind of getting there i think. come say hi!


End file.
